


a wanderer, let that be my name

by serdasenpai



Category: Rurouni Kenshin
Genre: Angst, Dreams, Gen, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-17 21:41:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29599131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serdasenpai/pseuds/serdasenpai
Summary: Kenshin has fleeting nightmares of that one agonizing day Tomoe dies. How does he move on?
Relationships: Himura Kenshin/Yukishiro Tomoe
Comments: 11
Kudos: 10





	a wanderer, let that be my name

That first winter rain, she came to him in a dream. 

The cloying fragrance of white plums quickly filled the little space he slept in, thin and nimble fingers plucking at the lapels of his shirt. He caught her arms, felt the smooth flesh of her wrist, and she leaned forward, strands of her hair silken on his chest. Then his own fingers dipped into something cold, sticky. A burst of wet upon his tongue, sodden, tasting of red, red, red…. He'd felt the curve of her body before, but now something was missing. He groped along in the dark, her breath cold against his cheek, and found the severed part of her, split open from neck to hip. Blood sprayed from the tip of his blade as it left her in a swinging arc, and she fell, twisted, half cleaved upon the snow. 

" **_Tomoe!"_ **

* * *

When he wakes, shivering, his body is damp. There is a moment of panic that he thinks he is back on the mountain, blinded, aching, blood in his ears, eyes, everywhere. Only the quilt had slipped off his shoulders in the night so he bundles up again and settles against the wall, chin tucked to chest. 

It is not his first- those sudden appearances in the night- and he knows for as long as her death plagues him it will not be his last. The dreams are equally all the same, and each time he rises with the cold on his face, the taste of iron in his mouth. 

After the initial moment, he'd sit in silence and wait. Remember to breathe. Then, he'd pack his bedroll and return to wandering. The winter season was always the hardest. Always, the tea he drank too cold, the rice leftover from yesterday. And yet, even those were far more tolerable than the bitter lump of guilt that sat like a heavy stone in his gut. 

* * *

  
Silence. 

Light, bright and glistening, reflects sharply against the white surface, his vision obscured if only for the moment. It is a raw chill, the kind that reddens his cheeks, his nose peppery, and if he breathes in too deeply his ribs creak like a tree branch heavy with snow, about to snap.

In his wanderings, he stops under a canopy of pine, the needles and bark thick with their own perfume. He watches the landscape, listens for a splash in the river, mandarin ducks bathing. Perhaps this is a place that many have been, he thinks, but never stayed long. A place only to pass through. His agreement is a silent one as he continues walking, doesn't look back.

He realizes, suddenly, that time has moved on. 

_ -one breath, two steps- _

And so does the rurouni. 


End file.
